The Minute I Saw You
by Savannah Singleton
Summary: Book editor Christine Carson at first wanted nothing to do with the three attractive men with the baby she encountered in the park one sunny Saturday afternoon. But as she got to know them, and their story, she realized they were not the bad boys she had believed them to be. Before she knew it she was falling in love with the baby known as Mary, and one of the three men.
1. Bad Boys

**A/N — After spending the past year writing a series of short stories involving Tom Selleck's character Frank Reagan of the TV series** ** _Blue Bloods_** **, I decided I was ready to move on to something else. But it seems I wasn't ready to move on from Tom Selleck, as I quickly had an idea for a short story for the 1987 movie** ** _Three Men and a Baby,_** **starring Mr. Selleck, Ted Danson, and Steve Guttenberg. However, with a quick check I discovered there was no category for this movie. Two weeks after my first request (I sent many. Sorry FF administration for the overload.) the movie was added.**

 **So, I have the honor of publishing the very first** ** _Three Men and a Baby_** **fanfic. My story is simply a slight deviation of the original, adding my own character into the mix, and creating (once again) a big "no-no" of fanfiction writing by making the OC a main character. It starts later in the film, after Ted Danson's character, actor Jack Holden, has returned from his movie shoot in Turkey. I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Christine Carson scanned the area as she sat, the concrete bench warm on the back of her legs below her shorts, thanks to the bright sun of the afternoon. She had expected to find Central Park more crowded than usual with the warmer-than-normal temperature, but she hadn't expected the hordes of park visitors invading her normally quiet spot.

As commissioning editor for a large book publishing company with designs on the editorial director's position, she spent long, pressured hours at the office during the week. She liked the wide open space of the park, as well as the peace and quiet of it she had enjoyed the past several Saturday afternoons when she had come to relax and enjoy a bit of mother nature. She frowned at the mass of bodies surrounding her now. Quilts and beach towels covered the grassy field in front of her as sunbathers, picnickers, and even lovers pleasured in the beauty of the day. Young children squealed with delight as they ran circles around those in charge of them relaxing on their individual blankets. Joggers, roller skaters, and walkers — some pushing strollers or following behind dogs on leashes — constantly passed by on the trail behind her.

The scene that most caught her attention was the three attractive, physically fit men tossing a red frisbee to one another in the middle of it all. She gauged them to be around her own age, possibly a bit older, closer to 40 perhaps. They drew her attention, as well as the attention of other women who were flocking around the men in droves, much like moths to a flame — young women mostly, early twenties to early thirties, most dressed in short shorts and skimpy tops.

The men were all attractive enough to turn women's heads, all dark haired, two of them quite tall, the third somewhat shorter. The shorter one had a cute, boyish face, with somewhat curly hair. A second one was more handsome with straight, combed-backed "Fonzie" hair, and strong facial features, including prominent brow and sturdy jawline with a slightly pointed chin. The third man, the tallest of the three, could be best described as ruggedly handsome, with thick wavy hair, bushy eyebrows, and a heavy mustache. He seemed the most athletic of the three — tanned, with broad shoulders, and thick, muscular thighs. He sported a light blue cotton shirt tucked into cuffed, khaki shorts. Short, rolled up sleeves exposed well-defined biceps. His moves were slick, often passing the frisbee from behind his back.

What most attracted the attention of Christina, however, was the baby with these men. Talk about a chick magnet — the cute little baby, dressed in a pink play outfit and matching frilly bonnet, seemed to bring the women running. The men passed the infant among themselves as they tossed their frisbee. Of course, whichever one had the pleasure of holding the baby at the moment attracted the attention of the most women, so the men took turns, the disappointment of the other two clear in their expressions as the women turned from them to follow the man with the baby. Their smiles returned as they each accepted their share of slips of paper from many of the women, slips of paper she could only guess included their name and phone number. Offering their services for babysitting? Yeah, right.

Christine watched with curiosity, but also disgust at the idea that these men would use the small child to pick up women. Which one was the father? None sported wedding rings. And where was the baby's mother?

Bored with watching the spectacle after several minutes, she pulled a paperback book from the bag on the bench next to her, and began reading where she had left off the weekend before.

"Ouch!"

Engrossed in the novel, the sudden bump of something on the shin of her crossed leg startled her. Leaning over to rub the spot, she quickly eyed the culprit lying on the ground — a red frisbee. As she reached to pick it up, she heard a male voice above her.

"Sorry. My friend made a wild toss there. Are you okay?"

Christine's eyes slowly made their way up khaki pants-clad legs, past an Aloha shirt, to the smooth, strong-jawed face of one of the men with the baby.

"I'm fine. And I believe this is yours." She handed him the frisbee.

"You sure you're okay? Because if that long, beautiful leg is in need of medical attention, or just a soothing rub—"

She jerked her leg away as he attempted to place his hands on it. "It's fine, thank you for your concern." She made no effort to hide her annoyance at his lame attempt at coming on to her. What? He didn't have enough phone numbers already?

"Come here often?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes as she stuffed her book back into her bag. "Does that line really work for you? Because it's really quite lame."

"Most of the time, yeah." He flashed her a smile, his eyes glistening. "But I can come up with a better one, if necessary. Usually there's no need."

"Don't bother."

As she slipped the straps of her bag over her shoulders one of the men, the shortest one, called out, "Come on, Jack! You're holding things up!"

"Keep your shirt on! Can't you see I'm busy here!" he yelled back. After tossing the frisbee to the man, he turned his attention back to Christine, placing his hands on his chest. "Sorry for the rudeness of my friend. Now, where were we?"

Rising from the bench, she replied, "I was just leaving. Enjoy your day with your friends."

He held his hands over his mouth prayer style for a few seconds, then said, "Okay. Obviously we've gotten off to a wrong start here. Let me introduce myself. I'm Jack Holden." He offered his hand. "And you are…?"

Ignoring his extended hand, she replied, "Not interested. Now if you'll excuse me…"

She turned to leave. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the third man with the mustache. He was holding the baby, but his attention was focused on Christine. As the baby reached for his face, he gently took her tiny arm in his hand and held it, but his gaze remained steady. Christine froze as her eyes met his, and locked. A weird sensation swept through her body, a feeling she had never experienced before. Several seconds seem to pass before the strange spell was broken by the voice of the man who had just introduced himself to her.

"Aw...come on," she heard him plea, "give me a chance, will ya? I'm a really nice guy. Just ask my friends over there, they'll tell you."

As she continued her exit, she dismissively waved bye to him over her shoulder. It was not until she put what she considered a safe distance between her and all three of the men did she dared to turn back around for one last look.

The incredibly good-looking man with the mustache still held the baby, and his gaze was still on her.


	2. Boys Will Be Boys

Peter tossed the dish towel over his shoulder, the cleanup completed, all baby bottles put away in the proper cabinet. Reaching into the wooden wine rack along the back wall of the large atrium kitchen, he pulled out a nice Bordeaux.

"Want a glass, Michael?" he asked his roommate and close friend who sat across the island from him.

"Sure," Michael replied.

"Pour me one too."

Peter glanced up to see the third roommate, Jack, entering the kitchen. It had been Jack's turn to put the baby down for her afternoon nap, but it seemed to have taken longer than normal.

"There you are, Jack. Finally. What took so long? Mary didn't want to take her nap?" he replied.

"Oh, she went right to sleep, totally worn out from the morning in the park."

"So why were in her room so long? Avoiding kitchen cleanup?" Peter reached for a third wine glass as he spoke.

Jack chuckled, rubbed his hand over his chin. "Nah. I sort of dozed off for a few minutes myself while I was in there. I don't know what's going on? I never used to need a nap in the afternoon. This daddy stuff is hard work!"

Handing Jack a glass of the wine, he replied, "That it is, and we aren't getting any younger."

"Hey! Speak for yourself!" Jack took a step closer to the island, picked up the bottle of wine. "So, what are we drinking here?" After studying the label on the bottle he added, "An '82 Bordeaux? I thought that was strictly for pronging chicks. Someone got one hidden in their room?"

"Not me," Michael said, frowning as he took a sip of his wine.

"Just as well," Peter said. "You wouldn't know what to do with her anyway."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Michael asked, clearly offended by the comment.

"Oh, come on, Michael. Every time you get a girl in your room, you turn into big brother, and start solving all her problems."

"So when was the last time you had one in your room, Peter?" Michael asked. "What's up with you and Rebecca? Haven't seen her around lately."

"Nothing's up. Rebecca and I are fine."

"Really? So when was the last time she stayed over?" Michael continued to prod.

"I don't know! I haven't counted the days. Rebecca's just been busy lately."

"Yeah, but busy with who?"

"Very funny, Michael. Rebecca and I aren't exclusive. We agreed to see others."

"So, who are you seeing?"

"Guys! Guys! Come on. Enough," Jack interrupted. "We're all in a slump here. I mean, seriously...when was the last time we even had a party?"

"That would be my birthday party," Peter replied. "The night _before_ strange packages starting arriving. One of them, need I remind you, almost landed Michael and me in jail for drug possession."

"Don't need to remind me," Michael said.

Jack shook his head. "I still can't believe you guys actually hid heroin in a bottom of a diaper pail."

"Well, I suppose you would have come up with a much better place to hide it. Except you weren't here, were you, Jack!"

"And you are never going to let me forget that, are you, Peter?"

"NO!"

"I said I was sorry. How was I supposed to I know _the package_ I asked you to take care of involved drugs? I had no idea Lenny was involved in anything like that. I was just doing a favor for a friend. Anyway, that all turned out okay, didn't it? So come on…" Jack stood, reached into the pocket of his slacks, pulled out a handful of small slips of paper, dropped them on the counter. "Time to count."

Peter and Michael followed suit, each pulling slips of paper from their own pockets and dropping them on the counter and began counting them. It had become a game — a contest of sorts — to see which of the three received the most names and phone numbers during their Saturday mornings in the park with Mary. Jack always had the most, and this day was no exception. They never bothered to call any of the numbers, not able to put a face with the name in all the park chaos, but they enjoyed receiving them none-the-less.

Following the count and declaration of the winner, Peter moved over to the pool table that filled half of the kitchen area, and began racking the balls.

"Winner breaks," he said, as Jack and Michael joined him, each retrieving a cue from the wall rack.

As he watched Jack efficiently scatter the balls, Michael commented, "So what is it about Jack that he always gets more names and phone numbers than us? I don't get it."

Jack placed his cue against the pool table, turned so that he exposed his profile to his friend and roommate. "Look at this face," he said, placing the back of his hand under his chin and pushing it up. "Who could possibly resist?"

"What about that woman sitting on the park bench? She didn't seem all that impressed when she walked away. Did you get her name and number, Jack?" Michael asked.

"I thought we were gonna play some pool," Jack replied.

"You're avoiding the question, Jack. Why is that?" Peter asked as he stepped up to the pool table to take his turn.

"Yeah, why is that, Jack?" Michael asked.

"Just play!" Jack replied.

"You didn't get either, did you?" Peter's smile filled his face. "How about that! The mighty Jack Holden actually struck out."

"I did not strike out!"

"Did you get her name or number, Jack?" The question came from Michael.

Jack cleared his throat. "No," he murmured.

"What was that? We didn't hear you." Michael continued to press, refusing to let Jack off the hook.

"I said _no._ It doesn't matter, though. She wasn't my type anyway."

"Oh, really, Jack. Since when is tall, blonde and beautiful not your type?" This time the question came from Peter.

"Did you think she was beautiful? I didn't think she was all that beautiful. I mean, she wasn't bad...she did have a nice pair of legs…"

"You're such a jerk, Jack. You know that, don't you?" Michael replied.

"Are we going to play pool, or not?" Jack asked, clearly wanting to change the subject. "Now, who's next?"

"Michael's up," Peter replied, letting Jack off the hook.

As he watched his friend sink the eight ball in a side pocket, he thought about the woman in the park. There was something special about her, about the way their eyes had met for a least a few seconds before she walked away, that he hadn't been able to get out of his mind.


	3. Girl Talk

Christine sat with her chair pushed back from her desk, legs crossed, manuscript in hand. Realizing she had just read the same sentence three times, she tossed it on her desk, then did the same with the pencil in her mouth.

A quick glance at her wristwatch added to her frustration. Half past eleven. A wasted morning; so far she had accomplished nothing. The usual Monday morning staff meeting had started late, and had run long.

Her weekend had been just as unproductive as her morning. After she left the park on Saturday, she had visited a few of her favorite family-owned bookstores, but had left empty-handed. Her evening ended as her Saturday nights usually did — home alone eating Chinese takeout and watching the same old movie over and over.

Sunday she returned to the park, finding it just as crowded as the day before. The only thing different was the absence of the three men with the baby. Her disappointment troubled her more than she chose to admit.

Even this morning, they were on her mind. As she stared out the large window of her office, she tried to reason why. It was normal to be curious, wasn't it? It had nothing to do with the fact that they were all three attractive men. It was about the baby.

So why could she not get the one with the mustache out of her mind?

The soft knock on her open office door made her jump, brought her back to reality. She turned to see her top assistant editor and good friend standing just inside.

Got a minute?" the assistant asked.

"Sure, Olivia, what's up?" Christine uncrossed her legs, reached for her desk, pulled her chair back to it.

"Umm…" Olivia began, gathering her hair in back with both hands and bringing it over one shoulder.

Christine at once noticed the brilliant shine of her colleague's long, thick mane. She had always envied Olivia's dark colorings, her natural beauty, considered her own fair skin tone boring. Suddenly self-conscious of her own hair slicked back in a long ponytail, she wished she had taken the time this morning to style it.

"I know we're busy right now," Olivia continued, "but...is there any chance I can take off this Friday? It's really important."

"Important," Christine repeated. "Family, medical, personal?"

"Umm...I guess personal."

"You guess?" Christine's lips slowly curved into a smile. She had no doubt it involved a man. The only question was which one. Olivia's love life was hard to keep up with, something Christine would have to admit she was a bit envious of at times, though she convinced herself she had no time for the complications of a love life.

Running her fingers through her hair, Olivia replied, "Tony has invited me to fly out to California with him this weekend. He has a meeting with a new client Friday morning, so he wants to go Thursday evening. And I really want to go."

"Tony? The film director?"

"Yes, but he's not actually a film director. Yet. Right now he's concentrating on commercials. What do you say? I'll put in extra hours next week, I promise."

"You really like this guy, huh?"

"I do." Olivia's eyes sparkled as she spoke.

Christine sighed. "It's fine. Go. Enjoy. I can manage without you for one day."

"Thank you! Thank you! You are the greatest boss ever!"

"Yeah, yeah...whatever. Now go, get back to work, so I can do the same." Christine motioned with her hand toward the door, and then turned her attention back to the manuscript in front of her. But only a couple of seconds passed before she raised her gaze.

"Olivia!" she called out as she pushed her chair back away from the desk.

Stepping back inside, Olivia replied, "Yes?"

"You've been seeing Tony for a while, right?"

Olivia smiled. "Well, a while for me. Why?"

"I just wondered if he might be familiar with an actor named Jack Holden. Perhaps he's mentioned the name?" Christine considered the possibility a long-shot, but she couldn't resist asking.

"Sure. He knows the guy well. As a matter of fact, we attended a birthday party at his penthouse not long ago. Why?"

"Penthouse?"

"Yeah. And you should see it! I mean, we're talking fan-cy! It's not just his though, he shares it with his two buddies. So why are you asking about him?"

"It's nothing really, I had a brief encounter with him in the park this weekend. He was with two other guys, must have been his roommates." She purposely avoided mentioning the baby.

"What did they look like?"

Christine described them both.

"Yep. That's them alright. Peter Mitchell and...oh, what's the other guy's name?" Olivia banged against her forehead with the palm of her hand.

"I have no idea." Christine stood, stepped around her desk, leaned back against it, anxious to learn more about these three men.

"The cartoonist. Michael something." Olivia held her hands out at her sides, wiggled her fingers, flashing red nail polish. "Michael Kellam, that's it," Olivia said, finally coming up with the name.

"Never heard of him."

"He draws _Johnny Cool."_

"Who?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Not _who!_ _What_. The _Johnny Cool_ comic strip. You know, _Johnny Cool_ , _the coolest cat ever._ "

Christine shook her head. "Never heard of it."

"Don't you read the comics in Sunday's newspaper?"

"Why would I do that?"

Olivia rolled her eyes again. "You know I love you, Christine, but seriously. You have got to get a life. You have got to get your nose out of a book once in awhile."

"And read a comic strip."

"Yes! And read a comic strip!" Olivia rolled her eyes a third time. "Never mind. You met these guys in the park?" She seemed quite overwhelmed by that.

"Just the actor. Not his friends. So, who are they? And by the way, I have a life," she added, feeling the need to defend herself against the personal attack.

"Really? When was the last time you had a date?"

"It hasn't been that long." It had, she didn't want to admit it to her friend. "And besides, there's more to life than dating."

"Says the woman who hasn't had one in a while."

"Whatever! Enough about me. What else do you know about these three men?" Christine turned and picked up the pencil from her desk.

"Besides the fact that they're three of the most eligible bachelors in New York and all three major playboys from what I saw at the party? What else do you want to know?"

"What about the third guy? Peter who?"

"Peter Mitchell. The architect."

"Which one is the tall, dark haired with the mustache?" Christine focused on the pencil in her hand as she asked.

"That's Peter. I can't believe you've never heard of him."

"Why should I have?" she asked, finding herself relieved he wasn't the cartoonist.

Olivia stepped over to the large window overlooking the city. "That skyscraper going up across the street," she pointed out the window as she spoke, "that's his."

At that moment, Jason from the design department knocked on the door, stuck his head inside.

"There you are, Olivia. You're needed in Bill's office. Like _now_."

"I'll be right there," she replied, then turned her attention back to Christine. "I want to hear more about this _encounter_ in the park. _All_ about it!"

Christine watched her exit, relieved for the interruption by Jason. She didn't want to go into detail with Olivia about her encounter in the park with these three men, though she would have liked to ask about the baby, and found it interesting that Olivia made no mention of her. Interesting, and strange. The whole situation was strange. Three men — all bachelors, _playboys,_ and a baby. Very strange. Whose baby was it?

She walked over the window, stood, staring out of it.

So that was his creation, huh?

She frowned at the idea of it.

She hated that building. The higher it rose — the more it blocked her view of the city — the more claustrophobic she became.


	4. Guys Always Treat

Christine stepped out onto the sidewalk as he held the door open for her. She immediately squinted, the sun a too-bright contrast to the restaurant lighting. As she rummaged through her bag in search of her sunglasses, she thanked her lunch companion.

"You know I'm the one who should be doing the treating, not you, Harlan."

"And you know, darlin', I'm way too much of a gentleman to allow that. A real gentleman never allows a woman to pick up the check, no matter the occasion."

She smiled. "I do know that. You are the perfect gentleman, always have been."

"Even when I had my tongue down your throat?"

Christine chuckled as she pulled the located sunglasses from the bottom of her bag, slipped them on. "Even then."

"Sure you won't join me for a nightcap in my hotel room later tonight?" he asked.

"I am sure."

"Why not, darlin'? You afraid you'll end up in my bed?" His eyes twinkled as he spoke.

Reaching to touch the middle buttons on his crisp white western shirt with the tips of her fingers, she replied, "That is exactly what I'm afraid of."

Harlan cocked his head to one side. "And would that be so bad, sugar?"

"Pleasure-wise...no. Business-wise, yes!"

He took a step closer, invading her space. "So, what if I signed with another publisher? Would that change the situation?"

"Too late. You just signed a contract with us for your next book," she teased, looking up at him.

"You got me there." He leaned in, kissed her on the lips. "You know where I am, should you change your mind." He took a step back, turned his attention to the busy street, hailed an oncoming taxi. "This one's yours, darlin'."

"Thanks, but I don't need it. It's only two blocks back to the office. I'm fine to walk. The weather is too perfect to not."

"In those heels?"

"Yes, in these heels. Now go, before someone grabs your waiting cab."

"Alright, sugar. I'll be talking to you soon."

"Real soon," she assured him as he stepped into the cab, closing the door behind him. She watched as the cab swerved recklessly into the busy street.

She had met Harlan Williams two years ago in Dallas at a writer's conference. She attended as a guest speaker, but was also there in search of new talent. Though the fifty-three-year-old man was twenty years older, she had been fascinated with him the moment they were introduced by a mutual friend. He reminded her of _J R Ewing_ , with the same good-looks and charm, but lacking the cowboy hat and the arrogance. He had insisted on treating her to dinner in the hotel restaurant that evening. Dinner led to after-dinner drinks in the bar, and the next morning she woke to find herself in his hotel room bed, her clothes scattered on the floor.

Two weeks later, back in her Manhattan office, she received his recently-completed manuscript in the mail per their agreement. She began reading it at once. Two chapters in, she had no doubt she held a best-seller in her hands. Less than two weeks later she was meeting with him in his hometown of Houston to sign the necessary papers. And with that, their business relationship began, ending any possibility of a romantic one. It was her number one rule to keep the two totally separate.

Although she would have been pleased to carry on a long-distance romantic relationship with the Texan, having him as a client took top priority, a decision that proved to be a wise one. Eighteen months later, his legal thriller was number one on _Publishers' Weekly_ bestseller list, followed shortly by _The New York Times._

As his taxi disappeared in the sea of traffic, she sighed. It was no wonder her love life was pretty much non-existent. The only men she ever seemed to come in contact with were professionally related in some way, whether clients or colleagues.

 _Almost the only men…_

And with that jolting reminder, she headed back toward the office, but with plans of one slight diversion along the way.


	5. Runaway Girl

Christine shielded her eyes from the bright sun with both hands as she stared up at the huge open structure in front of her, unaware of the other pedestrians passing by her from both directions. Floor after floor of massive concrete and steel rose high into the sky, her eyes following it up as far as her craned neck allowed.

She had already checked the sign at the corner of the construction site, finding his name just as Olivia had said — Peter Mitchell, Architect.

She took a step back to get a better look, stumbling and losing her balance as she bumped into someone passing behind her.

"Hey, lady, watch where you're going!" An obviously perturbed man hissed at her as he caught her, stopped her from falling.

"Sorry," she said, embarrassed by her preoccupation and clumsiness.

"Just be more careful, ma'am," he replied in a softer tone before continuing on his way.

"I will!" she called out, brushing hair from her face. After repairing her blouse that had come somewhat untucked from her skirt, she glimpsed at her wristwatch. Needing to get back to the office, she turned to head to the nearest corner crosswalk, and once again found herself in an apologetic situation.

"Oh, my God! I am so sorry!"

She was not normally at all clumsy, yet she had just collided head on with someone. Her cheeks burned, and she knew it was not from the sun.

"No, no. That was clearly my fault." The man spoke as he bent down to pick up a long tube he had dropped during their collision. Tucking the tube under his arm as he stood straight, he said, "I was in a hurry and not watching where I was going. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, thank you." She adjusted her sunglasses as she spoke. Even in high heels, she had to look up at man was incredibly tall. As she did, instant panic set in. His eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses, his light-colored suit and tie a big change from the short shorts and plaid shirt. But there was no denying the mustache, and the long tube he held confirmed what she wished wasn't so.

Blueprints.

She had just collided with _him_.

 _Peter Mitchell._

He smiled down at her. "I'd really like to make it up to you by offering to buy you a drink..." he paused, pushed up his jacket sleeve to check his own watch, frowned. "But I really have to get to a meeting up there"—he pointed up at the building they stood in front of — "and I'm already late."

"Really not necessary. Please, I don't want to detain you more than I already have." She motioned for him to go, praying that her voice did not reflect the butterflies now dancing around in her stomach, relieved that he gave no hint of recognizing her.

But then why would he? She was just one of many women in the park Saturday morning. And obviously he made a play for all of them, as he was now doing with her.

His frown turned back to a smile, and she hated that the butterflies seemed to jump when it did.

"Hopefully we'll bump into each other again soon," he said, his smile still wide, his eyes twinkling, then he turned and headed toward his building.

Christine sighed as she watched him. And then it happened, just as she thought she was safe. He suddenly stopped, turned back to face her. His expression was one of confusion.

He waited for a second as a few pedestrians passed between them, then he asked, "Have we met before?"

"No," she replied, her heart pounding against her chest.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she replied, fairly certain her voice sounded calm, though she felt anything but. "I'm sorry, but now I'm late for work."

She whipped around and, not thinking about anything but getting away from him as quickly as possible, she headed out into the street, right in front of an oncoming taxi cab.

"Sorry!" She held out her hand to stop it as the driver laid on his horn. Then she continued across the street while other drivers honked at her as well, one even yelling out at her.

"Are you crazy?!"

She never slowed her pace, never turned around to see if he was watching, never stopped until she was inside the safety of her own building. As she stood waiting for one of the three elevators to open, she put her hand to her chest, willing the beating of her heart to slow its pace. Only did it once she was back in her office.

As she stood at her window looking out across at the huge skyscraper, she assured herself she would not have reacted so ridiculously and carelessly had they crossed paths another time. They worked across the street from each other, passing on the street at some point would be normal, expected even. Except that she had no reason to be on that side on the street. He had caught her, not only in front of his building, but checking it out. Would he make that connection? Would he place her as the woman he'd made eye contact with in the park?

"So how'd it go?"

She jumped at the sudden voice behind her. She whipped around to see Olivia standing just inside her door.

"What do you mean, how'd it go? How'd what go?" she asked, way too defensively. Had Olivia seen her across the street? Had she witnessed the whole embarrassing scene from her own office down the hall?

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Your lunch. Didn't you meet with the Texas cowboy over lunch?"

"Oh, that."

"Yeaaah," she replied, stretching out the word. "What else would I be referring to?"

"Nothing. Nothing else," Christine assured her. "The lunch went well. He liked my ideas, and I liked his. Contract signed. Another best-seller on the way."

She stepped over to the front of her desk, leaned back against it, then reached back and picked up a pencil from it. Wanting to derail the conversation, she asked, "So, are you all packed and ready for your big weekend in California?"

"I am! Would it be okay if I leave a bit early this afternoon?"

Christine smiled. "Sure. Take the whole afternoon off if you want. There's nothing pressing going on, is there?"

"No. And I will definitely take you up on that. Thanks! You are such a good boss. And friend."

As Olivia approached the door to leave, she turned around. "Be sure to tell the guys I said hello Saturday."

"Guys? What guys?"

Olivia rolled her eyes again. Christine had teased her once, warning her that some day her face would freeze just as she rolled those eyes, and she would be stuck with permanent eye roll. Olivia had rolled her eyes at the suggestion.

"The guys. Jack. Peter. Michael. The three men in the park. And this time, don't reject Jack. Give him a chance. What do you have to lose? He's good-looking, seems charming. And he's an actor. How romantic is that!" Olivia paused, then continued, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "Of course, he's no Harlan Williams…"

"Very funny!"

Christine had regretted confiding in Olivia about her one night with Harlan, just as she now regretted telling her over lunch on Tuesday about her experience with Jack Holden in the park. She had mentioned the baby. Olivia had no idea who she might belong to, and had the same thought as Christine. Borrowed, to pick up chicks. But who would lend their baby?

At that moment, the phone on her desk rang, saving her from further discussion of Jack, or any of the three men.

Christine stepped around her desk to answer. As she did, she placed the pencil still in her hand back in its place on the desk, then waved bye to Olivia.

"Have fun," she mouthed to her, then answered the phone with "hello" as she watched Olivia disappear.

The caller was her boss, needing her in his office two floors up. "Be right there."

After hanging the phone back on the hook, she reached into her bag, pulled out her mirrored compact and lipstick. After powdering her nose, she applied fresh lipstick, something she had neglected doing before leaving the restaurant. After pressing her lips together, then blotting them with a tissue, she checked her hair in the small mirror, then closed the compact and dropped it and the lipstick back into her bag.

As she started out the door, she paused, glanced back out the window, wondering which of the many floors Architect Peter Mitchell might be having his meeting. She envisioned him standing at a makeshift table, pointing to something on the blueprints spread out in front of him, and then pointing to an area of the construction site.

Would she actually have the nerve to return to the park on Saturday morning, to her regular bench? Could she face him after that scene if he was there? And what about Jack? Would he make a second play at her? Should she take Olivia's advice? What did she have to lose? And what about Harlan? Would it hurt to meet him later for one drink? In the hotel bar, not his room.

Too much to think about at that moment. Her boss needed her in his office. She'd think about it all later, or perhaps not at all. It was all to complicated for her, publishing fiction novels was much more simple.


	6. Girls, Girls, Girls

Arriving at the park earlier than usual Saturday morning, Christine was pleased to find her usual spot available considering the park was already somewhat crowded. No surprise that it was, as the weather was perfect for it, perfect blue sky and temperature in the low 70's. As she settled on the bench, she reached into her bag beside her and pulled out the hardback copy of Scott Turow's latest bestseller, _Presumed Innocence._ It was important to keep up with the competition, and Turow was certainly Harlan Williams' major competition.

Before opening to the bookmarked page, she scanned the scene in front of her. No sign of the three men and the baby. She had refused to allow her fear of seeing Peter Mitchell again after her embarrassing encounter with him on Thursday to deter her from her normal Saturday routine.

 _So what if he recognized her? Who cared?_

Part of her hoped they didn't show up, part of her hoped they did, but only out of curiosity, of course.

 _Would they come alone, or would they again have the baby with them?_

She did not have to wait long to find out. Only a few minutes later and a few pages into her book, she glanced up to see the three men arriving, the actor who had introduced him as Jack Holden pushing the stroller.

She watched as the he removed the baby from her stroller. Again, the little girl was dressed in a pink outfit with matching bonnet. The cartoonist Michael Kellum — at least according to Olivia — reached into the back pocket of the stroller and pulled out a red frisbee, as architect Peter Mitchell took his place on the grassy field a short distance away.

The whole scene read like a practiced performance to her. And, as if on cue, the women arrived, surrounding Jack Holden and the baby.

 _Were they the same women as the week before, again sharing their names and numbers with the men in hopes of...what? Getting a call for their babysitting services?_

Christine chuckled out loud at the absurdity of that. It wasn't babysitting the women were offering the men, she was certain of that.

She shook her head in disapproval as she turned her attention back to her book, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't resist glancing up from the page she was reading every few minutes to check on the men at play.

 _Simple fascination and curiosity, nothing more._

The first time she glanced back up, Jack was still holding the baby. The second time, he was handing her off to Peter. Once he had her, Peter moved away from Jack, and of course, the women followed, leaving Jack standing alone. And that was the moment he glanced over, catching Christine watching. His eyes instantly lit up.

 _No, no, no!_

To her great dismay, he began making his way toward her.

"Aww...you're back. Just couldn't resist the Jack Holden charm, hmmm?" he asked as he approached her.

Olivia's words of advice played in her head.

 _And this time, don't reject Jack. Give him a chance. What do you have to lose? He's good-looking, seems charming._

"My return has nothing to do with you, or your so-called charm. I'm here to enjoy the nice weather and a good book, the later of which you are interrupting." She held the book up for him to see as evidence.

He took a few steps closer, as if to get a better look.

"Interesting choice. Most women I know read Danielle Steele. You know… romance, heartthrob stuff." He put his hands over his heart, one on top of the other, and fluttered them.

"I'm surprised they read at all."

"Ouch! That's rather insulting, don't you think?"

Her words _were_ harsh, she knew, and perhaps unfair. But unlike her friend, she found nothing charming about this man.

 _Of course, he's no Harlan Williams…_

Olivia had that part right. Harlan Williams _was_ charming; the man standing in front of her was simply arrogant, and she had always considered arrogance a major turn-off.

"Perhaps it was, my apologies. Now, if you don't mind…" She held the book up once more.

"No problem. I'll just…" He turned toward his two friends still surrounded by women, holding his hands prayer style, then back to her. "...be on my way." He turned and headed back toward his friends, then suddenly turned back toward her. "You really should check out Ms. Steele sometime. Maybe even a little Shakespeare."

"Shakespeare? You read Shakespeare, do you?"

"I'm an actor, remember? I _do_ Shakespeare. And quite well, I might add."

 _And there it was again. The arrogance_.

As she watched him join his two friends, she thought of Harlan and her last meeting with him.

Craving both a drink and the company of a friend Thursday evening after working late at the office, she decided to take him up on his offer to join him at his hotel. When she arrived, she found him in the bar on the mezzanine. Much to her surprise, he wasn't alone. Seated at the bar next to him was an attractive woman much closer to his own age than Christine. They were engaged in conversation when she entered the quiet, quaint little bar. She stood at the entrance and observed for several minutes, pondering the situation. Just as she was about to turn and leave, Harlan happened to glance her way.

"Darling!" he said, jumping off the barstool. "I didn't think you were coming! What a nice surprise! Come. Sit." He motioned for her to take his seat.

She hesitated for a moment before doing as he requested. As she settled on the stool, crossing her legs, she touched both sides of the hem of her short skirt to pull it down, then immediately decided otherwise.

"I'm sorry. I should have called first. I didn't mean to intrude…"

"You're not intruding at all," Harlan assured her, touching his hand to her exposed knee. "What's your pleasure, darling?"

Before replying, Christine glanced over at the other woman. The woman's expression said the opposite of Harlan's words. It was obvious she did not appreciate Christine's sudden appearance.

"Martini," Christine said to the bartender. "Dry, two olives, please."

According to Harlan's introduction, the other woman was Sally Stevens, a real estate broker in town on business.

"We just met," he said, "and Ms. Stevens has been telling me some great stories of personal encounters with clients. I may use some in my writing with her permission."

He continued to stand between the two ladies as the three of them made small talk while sipping their drinks. Uncomfortable with the situation, Christine stayed only long enough to have the one drink.

When she made her excuses to leave, Harlan, always the gentleman, insisted on at least walking her to the mezzanine stairs.

"You know, darling, had I known you were coming, I would have made sure I was alone."

"I do know, Harlan. It's fine, probably for the best actually," she replied, smiling. She kissed him on the cheek. "Enjoy the evening with your new friend. She seems nice. And I think she likes you."

She turned and headed down the large stairs, turning back to him on the third step down. "Talk to you soon. Have a safe flight back to Houston."

Once outside the hotel, she took a deep breath. Harlan's new female friend had saved her from breaking her own rule. A large part of her was relieved, but a small part was disappointed.

Shaking off her thoughts of Harlan, and what didn't happen that evening, she opened her book and continued reading, forcing herself to focus on the book and not the activities on the field in front of her. Several minutes passed before she was interrupted.

"Aha! I was right. It was you."

She looked up from the page she was reading to see Peter Mitchell standing in front of her.

"Excuse me?" she said, pretending she had no idea what he was referring to, and praying he couldn't hear the nervous pounding of her heart.

"Thursday. We bumped into each other. You were admiring my building under construction. I asked if we had met. You insisted we hadn't, then threw yourself into the street and in front of an oncoming taxi." His eyes gleamed with teasing delight.

Embarrassed, she quickly shifted into defensive mode. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Mitchell. I wasn't admiring it at all. I was merely getting a closer look at the monstrosity going up across the street from where I work."

She immediately regretted her words, giving him way too much information, including the fact that she knew his name.

"Ahh. So you know who my name. Which puts you clearly at an advantage, as I have no idea of yours."

Ignoring his prompt for her to introduce herself, she replied, "Did your friend send you over to sing his praises? Because if so, it is a waste of your time. I'm not interested in the least."

His expression was of confusion for a second, and then he replied, "Oh, you mean Jack. No, he didn't send me over, though it wouldn't be beneath him to do so." He offered a slight chuckle. "I just came over to say hi, and apologize for bumping into you as I did."

"And as I said at the time, no need. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to my reading, and I'm sure you are anxious to get back to _them_." She pointed at the women surrounding the cartoonist, who was now holding the baby.

"Sorry to interrupt you. I won't take up any more of your time." He turned to leave.

Not wanting him to leave, though unsure why, she asked, "Do you read, Mr. Mitchell? When you're not filling the skies with your tall buildings, that is."

"They're called skyscrapers. And, yes, I do read on occasion. I enjoy a good issue of _Sports Illustrated."_

" _Sports Illustrated_." She started to roll her eyes, but refrained, simply frowned instead. "Such classic reading."

"It may not be everyone's choice, but I enjoy it. And so does Mary."

"Mary?" she questioned. Who was Mary? A girlfriend?

"Yes, Mary. The baby." He pointed across the field.

"You read _Sports Illustrated_ to a baby? Seriously?" The idea of it was inconceivable to her, and the tone of her voice expressed that.

"She doesn't understand the words. It's all about how they're read."

"I see. And does she enjoy the pictures as well?" She envisioned large-breasted models scantily clad in bikinis in improper poses.

"Some of them, not all." He paused, then said, "Excuse me for asking, but...are you always this judgmental?"

"What?"

 _How dare him!_

He shrugged his shoulders, hands in the pockets of his shorts. "You express obvious disapproval of me and my friend Jack, though you know nothing about either of us. And we're actually pretty nice guys once you get to know us. But it seems we've both rudely intruded on your reading, so I won't take up any more of your time. Enjoy your book, Ms...whatever your name is. Good day."

She sat speechless as he turned and walked away. And then she heard herself yell out to him.

"It's Christine!" The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was doing.

He stopped, turned around. "Pardon me?"

"Christine. My name is Christine." She spoke the words more softly this time.

He nodded his head. "Alright then. Christine. Enjoy your day." He flashed her a smile, and then turned and continued on.

"You, too, Peter." This time she said the words more under her breath.


	7. Girls in Pink

Peter glanced across the field for the third time since he and Michael arrived at the park with Mary. And just as the first two times, the bench on the other side sat unoccupied. He sighed as he focused on the ground in front of him, uncertain which he found more upsetting — the fact that she wasn't there, or his obvious disappointment in that.

Why should he care? Sure she was attractive. And those legs! Hard to ignore them. But the park was full of attractive women, women eager to give him not only their names, but their phone numbers, and some even offering their home addresses. Hell, some included their bra sizes in those slips of paper they handed to him and his friends. Several just such women surrounded Michael and Mary now. He couldn't help but smile as he turned his attention to them.

Michael was clearly enjoying the attention, the women gushing over Mary's cuteness, while taking an occasional moment in between to bat their eyes at the man holding her.

Focusing on Mary, dressed in pink including matching bonnet, Peter smiled more. She too seemed to enjoy the attention, cooing and gurgling as she reached out to touch the cheek of the woman closest to her. Mary had turned their world upside down since showing up at their front door in a small basket, note attached. Utter chaos best described it. He shook his head as he chuckled to himself, memories of those first few days flashing through his head — confusion followed by panic; frantic trip to the store for diapers, bottles, formula; drug dealers showing up at their apartment a few days later, followed by a Narcotics officer; their apartment trashed, threatening notes left. Of course, some of that was the fault of Jack, or at least his friend, and not Mary. But even with all the chaos, she had brought more joy to their lives than any of them could have imagined on that first day. And now he couldn't imagine their lives without her.

He continued to watch in amusement for several minutes before his mind drifted back to _her._ Another quick glance made him frown; the bench was now occupied by a young couple with a small child.

 _Christine Carson. Commissioning Editor. 19th Floor_

That was the information he'd found on the directory, and it had explained a great deal. _If_ it was the same Christine, and it had to be. He had scanned the entire directory in the main lobby of the building, finding no other Christines. Of course, she could have a secretarial or other staff position that didn't come with an office of its own or a place on the directory.

But Peter was convinced it was her. It made sense — her obsession with books, with reading; her complaint of his skyscraper under construction directly across the street, now blocking an open view once available from that side of the building; her self-assured demeanor. Except, of course, the day he caught her in front of his building, apparently checking it out. He smiled as he recalled how flustered she had been, almost getting run over in the street trying to get away, though that scene had been more disturbing than comical at the time.

Of course, he had taken his own risk by stepping inside the publishing house building. What if she had walked in while he was there, or stepped off one of the elevators directly across from the directory wall? How would he have explained his presence? Meeting with a client? Yeah, like that would have worked.

So what was it about her? Why the interest? Why _had_ he found himself inside her building three days ago? And why was he standing in the middle of Central Park now watching for her? The woman _was_ attractive, but from he'd seen, she was also rude, arrogant, and about as judgmental as one could be.

Sure. He found himself attracted to strong, self-assured women. Wasn't that the appeal of Rebecca? Beautiful, successful attorney, who just happened to also be great in the sack. They were good together, had enjoyed each other's company for what? Nine years now, at least? But they weren't exclusive, never had been, and he liked it that way.

Michael had asked him once why he bothered dating others, when he had Rebecca. He'd replied by comparing her to a fine wine.

 _Think of it like this — you find a really fine wine. You stay with it, but every once in awhile you try a different one, just to compare. Make sure you're not missing out on something better. So far, I've found nothing that compares to Rebecca, but that doesn't keep me from continuing to comparison shop._

Of course, he didn't fool himself, he had no doubt Rebecca had the same philosophy. She had once rejected his desperate plea for help when Mary first arrived, informing him that she "was on a date". She'd even brought the date with her to his apartment.

But what the hell was he thinking now? Jack had first dibs on Christine, he'd seen her first. Yeah, she'd shot him down that first day, but that fact didn't exactly make her fair game. He couldn't ignore that, or the fact that she'd shown him the same level of interest — a big fat zero. Which probably explained why she hadn't shown up this morning, or had moved to a different area of the park to avoid them. Just as well, whichever.

Suddenly aware of the slight chill in the air, he pushed at the rolled-up sleeves of his own shirt; wished he'd worn pants instead of shorts. It was certainly cooler than it had been the two Saturdays prior, the skies more overcast than clear. Perhaps that was what had kept Christine away.

"Michael," he called out, "why don't you put Mary back in the stroller."

All eyes turned to him.

"Why?" Michael asked, frowning.

"Because it's cold, that's why."

Michael shot him a disapproving look. "It's not that cold, Peter." Raising Mary high in the air, he spoke directly to her. "Is it, Mary? You're not cold are you?"

"Just put her in the stroller, Michael."

"But she doesn't want in the stroller, do you, Mary? It's no fun in the stroller."

"Then at least put a jacket on her. Did we bring her jacket?" Peter approached her stroller as he spoke. Finding the pink jacket that matched her outfit stuffed down in the seat of it, he reached out for Mary. "Let me have her so I can slip this on her."

"Wanting your turn with the women?" Michael spoke in a low voice. Peter replied in an equally low, calm one.

"Nooo. I just don't want her getting chilled, that's all."

"Awww….she's so cute! Is she yours?"

Peter glanced up to see an attractive redhead standing in front of him.

"Yes, she is," he replied. And then he corrected himself by adding, "I mean no...she's not mine...not exactly."

The redhead looked at him with confusion.

"It's a long story."

"I have plenty of time," she flirted.

"Umm…." Peter adjusted his sunglasses as he spoke. "Actually, we were just leaving."

"We were?" Michael asked, scratching the back of his head. "We just got here! What's going on, Peter?"

"Nothing's going on, I just think it's a bit too chilly to have Mary out, that's all."

As he was about to politely dismiss the few women still hanging around, he caught of glimpse of Christine arriving across the field. He watched as she settled on the bench no longer occupied by the young family. She, unlike him, had dressed appropriately for the weather — light blue jeans, pink sweatshirt, and white sneakers. She'd secured her hair in a ponytail. While he'd enjoyed her short shorts before, and the tight skirt and high heels she'd been wearing in front of his building, he found this look of more innocence just as much a turn-on, if not more so. Once settled, she glanced his way, and as before, their eyes met and locked.

Was it his imagination, or did she just flash him a smile? Yes, she had smiled, he was sure of it. And she was still watching, had not turned away, had not pulled out a book to bury her head in.

"Ummm…" Peter paused, turning to face Michael. "I guess we can stay a little longer...it's not _all_ that cold."

"Good," Michael replied.

"Here, take Mary. I'll be back in a minute."

"Where are you going?"

"Just take her Michael!"

After handing Mary to Michael, Peter sauntered across the field, dodging a couple of young girls playing chase along the way. When he reached Christine, he nodded his head in way of a greeting.

"Christine, right?"

"Yes, that's right, Peter."

He turned to face the field. "A bit chilly today."

"Yes, it is."

"The park's not as crowded. Guess the cooler weather kept some away."

I guess it did."

They both focused on two young boys wrestling in the grass in front of them as several seconds of silence passed. Peter found the silence between them awkward, but at a loss for something to say, and was relieved when she finally broke it.

"You seem to be missing someone."

He quickly pivoted to face her, hands in his pockets. "Pardon?...Oh, you mean Jack. Yes, he had a screening to attend this morning."

"I see."

"Disappointed?"

She tossed her head back just a bit as she chuckled. "Hardly."

"Jack's really a good guy, once you get to know him."

Peter was surprised by his own words. Why was he promoting Jack? Guilt? Or simple reflex action to defend a good friend?

"I'm sure he is," she replied, smiling. "I'm glad you came over to speak. I have something for Mary."

She reached over and picked up a small shopping bag on the bench next to her marked _BookNook Books_ and handed it to him.

He reached in, pulled out three children's books, studied each.

"I thought Mary might enjoy them. And that you might enjoy reading them to her. You know….when you're both bored with sports."

Her bright smile as she spoke cleared away any concern of sarcasm.

"That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you."

He reached into his back pocket, then touched the same hand to his forehead. "I'm sorry, I don't seem to have my wallet with me to pay you."

"No, no, no! Not necessary. They're a gift, for Mary."

He smiled. "Well, Mary thanks you, and so do I."

"You're welcome. I hope she enjoys them. Lots of pictures. No women in bikinis, I don't believe."

"Ahh, shucks!" he teased, pleased with the more relaxed atmosphere between them. "Umm...would you like to walk over and meet Mary?"

They both glanced across the field at the same time. Michael was still enjoying the attention of a number of women.

Her ponytail swished as she turned to face him. "Thank you, but I don't think so. I wouldn't want to interrupt anything."

"Perhaps another time then." Raising the bag in the air, he continued, "I'll be sure to read one of these to Mary tonight. Thank you again. Enjoy your morning, Christine. I'm sure you have your own book to read, and I'm keeping you from that."

He turned to walk away, then whirled around. "Umm...just wondering….if perhaps you'd like to come over this afternoon for a glass of wine, meet Mary in a more quiet setting. If you're free, that is."

She hesitated before replying. He expected her to decline again. Waited for it.

"Actually I am free, and I would love to meet little Mary. And I'll take you up on the wine as well."

"Great! Say three o'clock? Mary usually goes down for a nap soon after her lunch. She should be awake by then, if not shortly after."

"Three is fine. I just need to know where."

"Oh, yeah…I guess you do. The Prasada. Not far from here. I'm sure you're familiar with it."

"I'm aware of it, yes."

"Good. Just tell the doorman you're there to see Peter Mitchell. He'll direct you to the right elevator and floor. You'll know you're in the right place when you step off the elevator by the wall art."

As he headed back to Michael and Mary, he began having seconds thoughts about the invitation. But it was the nice thing to do, wasn't it? She had just given him a gift for Mary, taken her time to purchase it. Inviting her over to meet Mary was the least he could do. It wasn't like he'd asked her on a date.


End file.
